


His 2.0

by Motherof4dragons



Category: The Rookie (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:28:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24922345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Motherof4dragons/pseuds/Motherof4dragons
Summary: This is an AU story that takes place when Lucy gets pregnant.LucyTo say that my family is traditional would be an understatement, so I knew when I got pregnant unexpectedly with no husband in sight, they weren’t going to take it well. My brother Jackson, the only one who ever has my back, asked his best friend to be there when we broke the news, hoping an outsider would temper their reactions. It. Did. Not. It went about as bad as I could imagine until—Tim saved the day. Now I have a baby daddy, and a not so fake fiancée to boot. Nothing can go wrong living in a make-believe relationship with the boy I’ve loved since I was eight. Nothing at all.TimI went that night to give Lucy Lu my support, not to almost punch her father and claim her as my own. I did though. The minute I saw the chance, I claimed her and her baby as mine. I don’t plan on giving them back.
Relationships: Tim Bradford & Lucy Chen, Tim Bradford/Lucy Chen
Comments: 9
Kudos: 74





	His 2.0

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to HIS 2.0. Sorry it took me so long. I got stuck with the story. I changed it, so instead of going back and editing what I had, I simply started a new one. Good news though is it is complete and posted in it's entirety. 
> 
> If you're at all curious about my other works outside of the fandom, please visit amandafayebooks.com or https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B088KRN51B?ref_=dbs_m_mng_rwt_calw_2&storeType=ebooks, to get your own copy of HIS today!

**Lucy**

To say that my family is  _ traditional  _ would be an understatement, so I knew when I got pregnant unexpectedly with no husband in sight, they weren’t going to take it well. My brother Jackson, the only one who ever has my back, asked his best friend to be there when we broke the news, hoping an outsider would temper their reactions.  _ It. Did. Not _ . It went about as bad as I could imagine until — Tim saved the day. Now I have a baby daddy, and a not so fake fiancée to boot. Nothing can go wrong living in a make-believe relationship with the boy I’ve loved since I was eight. Nothing at all.

**Tim**

I went that night to give Lucy Lu my support, not to almost punch her father and claim her as my own. I did though. The minute I saw the chance, I claimed her and her baby as mine. I don’t plan on giving them back.

  
  
  
  
  
  


I’d like to dedicate this book, to ‘She Used to Be Mine,’ written by Sara Bareilles, as sung by Jeremy Jordan.  [ She Used to Be Mine ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=chkOkcEFGM0)

If you haven’t heard the song before, or haven’t heard this version, I beg you to take four minutes out of your life and listen to it now. Then, you’ll spend another four, listening to it again. 

I know it’s strange to dedicate a book to a song. 

I  _ know _ . 

Once you watch it though, you’ll understand.

Chapter One

Lucy

  
  


"I am. I'm the father. The baby's mine."

Silence. Blessed peace follows the unexpected statement from my brother's best friend. The earth herself pauses in its rotation while my collective family holds their breath, waiting for the information to process.

Then pandemonium breaks loose.

I should be involved in the arguments taking place. After all, it's the paternity of  _ my _ unborn child they're discussing. I can't, though. I'm too busy rewinding the last four months of my life to see if I've possibly slept with Tim and not realized it. 

No. I don't think I did.

I observe the room, doing as I've done since I was a child. Taking in the madness from the safety of the outside. 

My brother, Jackson, who knows damn well, this child is  _ not  _ Tim's, wears a calculating expression on his face. His eyes quickly flicker between Tim and me, formulating and discarding plans of attack in rapid succession. Jackson is a politician, born and bred. It's what he's been trained to do since birth. Analyze a situation and find the best possible outcome. 

My younger brother Tyler is with his wife in the corner, conversing in rapid but quiet tones. I can't understand what they're saying, but the tone is clear enough. As Jackson's campaign manager for the House of Representatives, it'll be his job to sell this to the public.  _ This _ , as in my ill-begotten pregnancy.

Tim is nose to nose with my father. I try to focus on what they're saying, but words have become fuzzy in my ears. I pull a trick of serenity from the lockbox in my head. I close my eyes, picturing a big blue space of nothingness. It's not  _ just _ blue. Shades are ranging from the deepest night to the brightest sunrise. I count backward from ten, allowing the numbers to fill the space in my mind. Willing my body to calmness. I make it to three before the numbers shatter. Cracks in my psyche are breaking it into pieces.

A wave of nausea flows over me, and I reach behind me, feeling for the chair I know is there. When I'm sure of my placement, I let my knees go weak, and limply slide into the seat. 

My hands rest on my knees while my head dangles over my legs. I let the oxygen saturate my blood cells, inhaling through my nose, and exhaling through my mouth. This, too, shall pass. Difficult roads lead to beautiful destinations. A hundred different platitudes drift in and out of my brain, each of them less helpful than the last. 

_ How did I get into this situation? _

I know the mechanics. Girl meets boy. Girl kisses boy. Girl, let's boy ride bareback because she's on the pill, forgetting that she finished a round of antibiotics a week before, and her birth control probably isn't working yet. The girl tries to call the boy only to find out he gave her a fake number.

It's an all too familiar story. Frankly, half of my social worker cases started a similar way. 

What I'm trying to figure out is how did I get  _ here _ ? What steps took me to the place where my  _ secret _ crush, my  _ unrequited  _ desire, the boy I've been  _ clandestinely  _ in love with since the third grade is currently telling anyone who will listen that  _ I _ am carrying  _ his  _ child? 

You may wonder why this sort of announcement is causing such a ruckus. It's the twenty-first century, after all. Women have babies out of wedlock more than they have them in it.

Well, that may be true. But not in my family. I'm Lucy Belle. Yes,  _ that  _ Lucy Belle. The second child and only daughter of  _ The  _ Blueridge Belles. Our obscure corner of the mountains has produced two presidents, three senators, a vice president, and too many random political offices to count.

If you're not a politician, then you're a politician's wife. Or campaign manager. Or maybe you run a non-profit that your closest politician uses as camera bait. Still, the point stands.

All except for me. Instead of going into an approved profession designed to help my brother, however, I shamed the family legacy by becoming a social worker. 

Isn't social work a public service you ask? Why, yes, it is. Thank you. But, it's not one easily used to gain voter turnout. I can't have a camera following me at work waiting for the perfect photo op. 

My mother's voice floats into my ears, and when I hear her huff, "This is just like the Palins all over again,"

I almost eke out a laugh.

_ Almost. _

Only my mother would equate me, a college-educated independent woman, with the likeness of an unmarried teenager.

I can feel motion beside me and open my eyes to see the feet of my brother. I don't flinch away when I feel his hand land lightly on my back. I'm okay with physical affection, but not when I'm having 'a moment,' as my family calls it. Funny, how I only seem to have these ' _ moments _ ' when I'm around them. When I lean into his touch, he starts to rub firm circles into my spine, easing some of the tension building there. 

"You don't have  _ any _ control over what she does, David."

I peek up from my hiding spot when I hear Tim lash out at my father. Tim moved to our town when he was ten years old. He and my brother have been fast friends ever since. I spend as little time with my family as possible, whereas Tim still comes to dinner once a week. He's more of a part of the family than I am.

That's one of the reasons Jackson and I waited to announce my pregnancy during our annual fourth of July in the Hamptons. Because we knew Tim would be here. He comes with us every summer.

That, and we  _ hoped _ that with a non-family member present, our parent's reaction might temper—at least a little bit.  _ We were wrong _ .

Still, though, that doesn't explain why Tim decided to declare he was the father. I understand that he was trying to lessen the pressure on me. I even appreciate the gesture. But he's got to know that as soon as they realize it's not his, and of course, they  _ are  _ going to, it'll just be that much worse. Then, not only will I have disgraced myself by getting pregnant, but I'll have pulled Tim into my shame by lying for me. 

I zone back out, letting my thoughts wander where they will. It's odd, seeing Tim so worked up. He's a pediatrician. He has two modes; happy and adorable. Not this raging hulk of a man I see before me. Nobody talks to daddy like that.

_ No one. _

My father is a marine and a two-time vice president. The third youngest vice ever elected. Yet, I've never seen him this worked up. If I thought it was because he cared about me, I might feel gratification to see such a fire lit underneath him in my defense.

Another flood of sickness crashes into me, and I must make some move, some sound of distress. Suddenly Jackson drops to his heels next to me, pushing my hair out of my face.

"Tim," he barks, and the air pressure changes immediately. Tim's like a hurricane. The eye of the storm. He's striding towards me, shoving my father out of his way. 

Tim lowers to one knee in front of me, taking my head into both of his hands. It's the closest we've been since my senior prom. Maybe the closest we've ever been. His face is mere inches from mine.

I feel weak at his touch. Palpitations burst through my chest, and I try to convince myself it's from the morning sickness. At seven o'clock at night. In the second trimester.

"Lucy Lu," Tim questions breathlessly, and another piece of my wall crumbles around me. He's the only person who's ever called me that. My parents thought nicknames were below our class, whatever that means. 

But always,  _ always, _ I've been  _ his _ Lucy Lu.

Without taking his thumb off my cheek, he pushes two fingers into my neck's pulse point. His head moves imperceptibly as if he's listening for something the rest of us can't hear. Satisfied with whatever he's heard, he whispers, "What's wrong princess, tell me what hurts?"

I'm sure he says that to all the girls.  _ Literally _ . Every girl in our county, under the age of thirteen, has probably had those exact words whispered in her ear. I can't stop the shudder that runs through me at his tone, though.

Deep, possessive. Almost Sensual. 

I make the mistake of looking him in the eye. Blue, but like the abyss in my mind, they flex and blur, depending on his mood. His mind must be twisted as my own because his eyes can't seem to settle on a color. There's a storm of emotion billowing behind them. 

At this distance, I notice things I only get to glance in passing—the way his three-day-old stubble covers his chin but naturally fades away from his lips. The widow's peak, bleeding into an otherwise full head of light brown hair. The piercings in his ear that I know he won't let close. Even though it's uncouth for a pediatrician to wear earrings—his words, not mine.

He's the classic, clean-cut American Boy, with a body that's all man.

I feel more than I see a crowd form around us and break eye contact with Tim to look over his shoulder. Everyone has formed a half-circle around me, and the two men kneeling at my feet. My father and mother. Jackson's husband, Sterling, who happens to be my favorite person on the planet. Tyler and his wife, Michelle. Uncle Gray stands with his wife, and gives me a reassuring wink. 

My heart kicks up again, the pressure of this many people crowding around me, elevating my tension levels. My stomach heaves, and I close my eyes, counting in my breaths as I go. 

A vast blue blankness. Tranquility washes over me. The numbers hover in my mind. Ten, nine, eight—.

"So, son, before I call your parents, tell me; are you going to do the right thing here and marry my daughter?"

My father's drawl is sharp, a sure indicator of his distress. Tim doesn't even hesitate.

"Yes, sir, if she'll have me."

Before I have a chance to react, my stomach lurches for a final time, and I'm bending over the side of the chair, vomiting spectacularly into my mother's potted chestnut tree.

Chapter Two

Tim

**_One hour before_ **

"Thanks for coming, man."

I pull my head away from my phone and smile when Jackson hands me the tumbler of scotch. This is supposed to be a typical family dinner, albeit in the Hampton's, but my internal combustion pressure has been rising since about noon yesterday. In other words, since we boarded the private jet in Georgia. 

"Of course. I come every summer." 

His look says that's not what he meant, but he doesn't say anything else.

We clink our glasses together and watch as various relatives' flitter in and out of the space. The Belle summer home is large and airy, a monument to American architecture, built back in the 1890s. We're in the parlor or reading room, or whatever space you call where you hang out when you're waiting to go to dinner. Because that's the type of family they are. They still  _ go-in _ to dinner. It's not that bad if you've grown up with it.

Which, for all intents and purposes, I have.

My parents left the hustle and bustle of New York before I was a teenager to let my siblings and me grow up in a more grounded reality. You can't get much more down to earth than the backwoods of the Georgia mountains.

Not that the Belle clan is a shining example of reality. Not at all. If they had a firmer grip of what it meant to be a modern family, Jackson and Lucy wouldn't have had to call a town hall with reinforcements to announce that she's pregnant. 

Pregnant. I've known my baby girl is  _ all  _ woman for quite some time.

_ Trust me. _

The twitching in my jeans has made it painfully evident that she isn't the shy little duckling I knew in our childhood. But thinking of her as a mother, with a baby of her own? It did something to me, plain and simple.

I've thought of little else since she told me.

"What's the plan of attack," I ask my friend, turning my back to the other conversations. I make sure to keep Lucy in my peripheral vision. She's a glorious sight, in a yellow sundress with her dark hair tumbling loosely around her shoulders. I can see the pregnancy hormones running through her. Her cheeks are flushed, her hips and breasts more pronounced. Her eyes are brown and sparkling in the sunlight, filtering in through the windows.

She's fourteen weeks already, and if her family didn't treat her as if she were part of the furniture, they'd all be able to tell.

Always a soft woman, today she's blooming under the light trickling in through the curtains. She's also a nervous wreck. Not that anyone besides Jackson and me would pick up on it.

Her family has spent a lifetime ignoring her. When it became evident that Lucy wasn't going to march to anyone's drum but her own, her family quickly dismissed her, what they saw as a weakness, I understood as strength. A character trait that is sorely missing in her tribe. Not that her brothers aren't good men. They are, both of them. Jackson, he's the greatest man I know. Just, for the most part, he falls into line. It never occurred to him to be anything other than what they expected him to be. 

"Lucy says she's got it handled. We're just here on an emergency basis. I thought it would be easier on her, knowing that she has friends in her corner."

I bring the tumbler to my lips again, but barely register as the exquisite liquid burns its way down my throat. The whole thing makes me so mad. She shouldn't need a support team for something as simple as telling her parents about her baby. It should be a cause for celebration, not a reason to strategize. As much as I love and admire this family, I'll never understand how they treat each other—the way they treat  _ her. _

"What I don't understand is why she chose  _ now,  _ of all times, to tell them. Wouldn't it have been better one on one?"

Jackson swallows the rest of his shot down in one go, walks the three feet to the decanters, and fills it higher than before. I decline the top off when offered, and he closes the distance between us again.

"That was my idea. I thought pops would have a calmer reaction if they had an audience to play for."

"Ahh," is all I can think to reply. Unfortunately, he's probably right.

The far door opens and in walks their mother. She's a picture of loveliness, not a strand of hair out of place. When I was a kid, I was fascinated by how perfect Mrs. Belle looked, no matter the hour. Even at three a.m., telling us to shut the hell up, her hair was always tucked at the top of her neck. Her silk robe, perfectly tied at the waist. Now I wonder how exhausting that must be—the need to be picture perfect at any hour of the day. My mother, bless her, is a mess until at  _ least _ her third cup of coffee.

Lucy glances our direction, and we both nod, giving her all the support we can lend her from across a crowded room. It's now, or never her face seems to read. Jackson opens his throat and swallows back the rest of his scotch. The action makes my nerves ratchet up yet another notch. He must be more concerned than he let on to show this much crack in his composure. 

Mrs. Belle opens her mouth to speak, and I know exactly what she's going to say before her lips can form the words.  _ Mrs. Williams tells me dinner is almost ready. We can head into the dining room now. _

Any other time and the normality of it would bring a smile to my face. However, tonight, Mrs. Belle opens her mouth to speak, and Lucy steps up next to her, effectively silencing her mother with a hand on her arm. 

"Before we move on, I have an announcement I'd like to make."

Her voice is steady and sure. Not a tremble to be had. I'm so proud of her I could kiss her. Her eyes wander our direction again, and I shoot her the broadest smile I can manage. She's got this.

Undoubtedly thrown for a loop with her daughter's outspokenness; nevertheless, Mrs. Belle is a professional and swiftly hands Lucy Lu the floor.

"Of course, dear." 

Mrs. Belle steps to the side, the queen, passing the baton to her heir. As reluctant as the heir must be. 

She's shaking. Tiny trembles wrack over her body. Still, her voice is steady when she speaks.

"Since we're all together, I wanted to take this opportunity to tell you that I'm pregnant. Almost four months."

I watch as the realization hits members of the family. Her uncles react first, no surprise. Guarded looks at her parents, followed by hesitant smiles at her. She returns it on shaky legs. Tyler and Michelle keep their faces neutral. I'm not sure if they already knew.

When it works its way into her mother's brain, she gives a tiny gasp, bringing her fingers to cover her mouth. Her eyes shoot to her daughter's midriff, finally noticing the slight curve of her belly.

All that's left is her father. I can see the war taking place inside him. It's playing out plain as day over his body. 

Mr. Belle is known for his cool and calm exterior. Now though, his face pales, then flushes with heat in rapid sequence. I almost step forward to check on him, fearing he may be having a stroke. His hands open and close at his side, his effort to gain control over his extremities blatant.

You'd have thought she'd told them she only had months to live, rather than giving them their first grandchild. 

As Jackson predicted, the parents look at each other, then around the room, gazing at their audience. Unfortunately for our best-laid plans, Mr. Belle doesn't seem to give a shit.

"Pregnant? Even you couldn't be so stupid. How could you let this happen?"

His voice is nasty and harsh. If I hadn't seen the words leave his mouth, I wouldn't have recognized it.

Jackson steps forward but halts looking between us, unsure how to intercede best. We're here to make the situation better. I'm not sure telling the family that he and I have known for months would do that.

Her deep inhale quivers with its force, but still, her voice is steady.

_ Damn. _

_ That woman. _

A mere mortal would cringe at the looks being thrown her way. Not my Lucy Lu.

"I didn't  _ let _ this happen, Daddy. It has. I'm not going to apologize, and I'm not going to say I regret it. However, it came to be, I am having a baby, and you are going to be grandparents."

It's a smart move, reminding them of the Grandparent thing. Nothing is more important to her father than the legacy he leaves behind. Dotting Grandpa would be a look the voters would eat up. I see the thought click momentarily behind her mother's gaze, but her father is on a roll. Nothing as simplistic as impeding grand fatherhood is going to slow him down now. 

"You moron. You,  _ stupid _ little slut. Do you have any idea what the voters are going to think about Jackson's family, having an unmarried pregnant little harlot for a sister? It's an election year! You  _ know _ if Travers is elected, I have a shot of being Secretary of State. How will I explain that I have such a loose hold on my household that I let my daughter get knocked up by some anonymous hood?"

"The father," her mother whips like lightning, and Mr. Belle grasps on to any scrap to keep his anger billowing. 

Jackson strides to his sister's side but stops short from pulling her into his arms. I saw when she dropped her veil. Not so much a mask, but a steel forged double reinforced iron gate. A barrier between her and the nastiness that surrounds her. When she gets like that, it's best to leave her be. Another point of her personality in which her parents and I disagree. They see it as a sign of her smallness. I see it for what it is— _ an ability to survive. _

Like a cactus, blooming flowers in the harshest of environments.

I watch as she builds her fortifications, and blinding white-hot anger licks up my spine. I'm not a violent man, but right now, I'd pay Sheriff Doyle a hundred bucks to lock David Belle and me in a cell for ten minutes and look the other way. 

"Who's the father, Lucy?"

_ Five minutes? _

Hell, I'd only need one.

Fear flashes in her eyes, and I take a step forward without realizing it. Her gaze flickers between Jackson and me, but she remains silent. Lifting her chin in defiance instead of answering the question. What can she say? Nothing at this point can salvage the situation. 

"Who's the bastard's father, Lucy Elizabeth Belle."

She flinches. At the callus use of her full name or the malicious term for her child, I have no way of knowing. Adrenaline floods my nervous system, and the only thought left in my brain is getting Lucy as far away from that asshole as possible.

There's only one way.

As far as David Belle is concerned, Lucy belongs to him. He's a deep southern boy and holds property laws near and dear to his heart. Lucy is his property to treat as he wills—until she's not. 

_ Well then. _

"I am. I'm the father. The baby's mine."

Chapter Three

Tim

**_Back to reality, if that's what they're calling this_ **

  
  


"If you ever speak to her like that again, I'll kick your ever-loving ass. Secret service detail or not."

I'm inches away from his face, and I can see the anger warring with his political aspirations—the _ fucker. _

"Tim," Jackson snaps, bringing my attention from their father to where he's crouched in front of Lucy.

She's drawn and pale, a far cry from the glowing mother to be I witnessed not even an hour ago. Panic swells inside me, and I shove David out of my way rather than waste the seconds to walk around him. 

Dropping to one knee in front of her, I cup her face in my hands. She's pallid, and her skin is clammy to the touch. Skimming my thumb across her cheek, I run the fingers of my other hand through her hair, smoothing it away from her face. 

"Lucy Lu," I say, and I hope she can't hear the tremble in my voice. Using a smidgen more force with my fingers, I take her heart rate. Tachy, over a hundred beats per minute, but strong and steady despite the fact.

No surprise, her heart is pounding.

Her father and I almost came to blows, I steamrolled over her pregnancy announcement, and her closest relatives screamed like banshees over her unborn child.  _ Classless _ . We're  _ all _ a bunch of assholes. Her heart skips a beat under my fingertips, and it causes my heart to clench in turn.

"What's wrong princess, tell me what hurts?"

Her gaze locks with my own, and her eyes spellbind me. She looks lost. Scared.

_ Hopeful _ ?

Goosebumps break out under my touch, and the desire to turn around and punch her father almost overwhelms me again. All I wanted to do was help her, and instead, I've made the situation a hundred times worse.

I don't know what came over me—a culmination of a decade's long puppy crush melding with an ill-timed case of white knight syndrome. 

I see her shields raise around her at the same time I remember we have an audience. She breaks our stare, and my eyes drop to her lips. She's silently forming words, and I'm trying to make them out when her father speaks from behind me. 

"So, Son, before I call your parents, tell me; are you going to do the right thing here and marry my daughter?"

What an asshat. Everything yelled between us, and that's all he cares about. The impression he'll leave on the voters. Like calling my parents is the worst thing, he could do to me.

Her eyes flick back to mine, and panic flashes over her features. If I thought she was bloodless before, she's almost a ghost now. Marry her? What a pointless question. I knew I'd do anything for this girl when I was nineteen and watched her heartbreak for the first time.

"Yes, sir, if she'll have me."

She jerks, and for a moment, I'm afraid she's trying to make a break for it, not that I blame her. Lucy grips the side of the chair like her life depends on it and flings her body over the side, hurling her stomach contents into the plant sitting next to us. Immediately I reach for her, wrapping her hair in my hands, ensuring she stays clean while she empties her belly. I hear a commotion in the background, but I have no attention for anything other than Lucy Lu. 

"Let it out, princess. That's my girl." I rub firm circles into her back, trying to hit any pressure points I can remember from my textbooks.

Her heaves dry out, but her stomach clenches and releases, causing her to retch every few seconds. It's the only outlet she has available to rid herself of all the stress that's piled on her the previous forty-five minutes. Hell, the last twenty-nine years.

When she slows to a stop, I move out of the way so she can collapse back onto her seat. Sweat coats her brow, and while there's color back in her face, she looks green around the edges. Squiggly, like whoever colored her in, did so outside the lines.

I raise from my crouch, my thighs starting to feel the burn, and place my hand on her shoulder, pushing her hair behind her ear. Leaning down so only she can hear me, I whisper, "are you alright?"

She nods, her lips drawn over her teeth, and her eyes closed tight. 

"Want to get out of here?"

Nod.

I don't hesitate, don't stop to think about my actions. I can't make anything worse than I already have, can I?

I lean down, placing one arm under her knees and the other around her back, scoop her from the chair, and into my arms. I expected— _ I don't know what I expected _ . Lucy doesn't like to be touched. I envisioned her putting up a fight, some sound of protest. I didn't anticipate her wrapping her arms around my neck and burying her head in my shoulder. 

I think I've touched her more tonight than the last twenty years combined.

When I turn with her in my arms, her father makes as if to block my path.

"Where do you think you're going, son?" He questions, accent thick on his tongue.

"Lucy is mine, and thanks to you, she's ill. Get out of my way." 

She buries her head deeper into my neck. 

"And don't call me, son."

His hands flex at his side, and I think he's going to make a move, but Mrs. Belle reaches out with a hand on his bicep, and he steps aside, clearing a path for me to walk through.

I'm in one of the back bedrooms, and it's a few minutes' walk from the front of the house to the rear. I adjust my grip on her, settling her against my chest when she mumbles against my throat.

"You can put me down now, Tim. I feel better, promise."

Could I? Sure. But honestly, I don't want to.

"I've got you. Besides, it'll ruin the impression. The Belles have spies everywhere." I whisper shout. I try to come off spooky--like we're CIA agents talking in a corner booth about Russia.

It works.

This time when she hides her face against my neck, it's to help smother the giggles escaping her.

I drop a kiss against her hair, inhaling the scent of her perfume and conditioner.

"Thank you," she whispers against my skin. The flesh pebbles underneath her touch. Her voice is gentle but sincere in its tenacity. For the first time tonight, I consider that maybe I haven't ruined Lucy's life. 

"You're welcome."

Chapter Four

Lucy

One of the benefits of being at the Hampton house is every bedroom has its own bathroom. Tim wouldn't have me going back to my room yet. He's afraid they'll corner me when I'm alone. Which is why I'm lounging in his bathtub, trying to figure out what in the heck just happened. 

I slide under the warm water, letting it push my heat frazzled hair back against my scalp.

Okay, so, tonight got away from me. I think we can agree on that. Best laid plans and all. I contemplated how my meeting with my parents would go a thousand different times.

_ In _ all my deliberation, I never envisioned ending the night in Tim's bathtub.

The bathroom door bursts open, and before I have a chance to cover myself, Sterling is pushing it closed behind him and dropping to the floor by the tub.

For all that he's a politician's husband, he's a gossip-hungry pre-teen in his heart.

"Okay," he grins at me, excitement pulsing from him, "can we just take a minute to talk about how  _ hot _ that was?

He looks at me earnestly, enthusiasm for the conversation dripping from his voice. He doesn't even bat an eye that I'm naked in the bathtub. What's a little nudity between friends?

I close my eyes and try to fight the blush running through my system.

"It was rather swoon-worthy," I admit, "at least the parts I paid attention to."

He gasps in abject horror. "What do you mean the parts you paid attention to? Weren't you watching the play by play?"

"No, sadly not. I had other things on my mind."

He scoffs in derision.

"Well, take my word for it; it was hot."

That I have no trouble believing, everything Tim does is hot.

"What are you going to do?"

His voice softens, concern for the situation I've found myself in finally making its way to the surface. He reaches out a hand and runs it over my already slicked-back hair.

"I don't know. It's not like I can marry Tim."

"Why not?" Sterlings asks, his enthusiasm back in full force. "I would!"

"Tell that to my brother," I laugh back at him.

"Oh, trust me, I will."

We sit in silence for a moment before the sounds of yelling make their way through the barrier of the bathroom door.

"Uh-oh," Sterling quips with a look of panic on his face. I sit forward with a splash, reaching for the drain on the tub, and Sterling climbs to his feet, picking the robe Tim left for me off the toilet seat. He holds it open, and I step from the tub and into his waiting arms, quickening our motions as the yelling gets louder.

We open the door in time to see Jackson and Tim squaring off in the middle of the room. Sterling moves to step into the fray to attempt to break it up. But I hang back by the door, trying to stay out of the way.

"Jesus Tim, you can't actually marry her. Do you get that? Cause I'm not sure that you do."

Tim runs his hands through his hair, sending it every which direction. Anger radiates from him, and it's both frightening— _ and intoxicating _ .

"Something happened tonight, and I  _ cannot _ and  _ will  _ not go back. When I heard your asshole of a father refer to her child as a bastard? Goddammit, Jackson. If I could somehow ensure that your father never spoke to her again, we'd be in Vegas by the morning and consummate in front of the  _ Pope _ if need be."

Fire flashes in his eyes anew, and he takes another step closer to my brother. As I watch, the good guy persona sheds from him, leaving behind something fierce and dangerous. Every instinct I have is telling me to turn and run, To get as far away from him as possible. Except for the ones that are telling me to get closer, to cower in his shadow.

Because all of his protectiveness is for me.

"Isn't this why you wanted me here? To protect your baby sister? God knows you aren't going to do it. You didn't do  _ anything  _ tonight. He called Lucy a  _ whore _ , Jackson, and you just stood there, letting it happen." 

His voice has risen until he's practically screaming in Jackson's face. The tendons in his neck are jutting out. I can see the pressure building in his head, waiting to burst into heat and flames.

"This isn't your place," Jackson shouts back, poking Tim in the chest.

"She isn't your family. She's not yours to protect Tim."

"She's mine now," he growls, and I catch Sterling swooning from the corner of my eye.

Tim steps forward once, and though he’s the bigger of the two, his anger makes him seem twice the size of Jackson.

"It's been a while since we fought," says Tim, "but if I recall, I kicked your ass that time too. Now get the fuck out of my room so I can talk with Lucy."

"You better know what you're doing," my brother growls at him, grabbing Sterling by the hand and hauling him out of the room.

When the door slams, Tim runs his hands through his hair again, growling in anger.

Then he turns and freezes when he meets my eye.

Chapter Five

Tim

Fuck me. I didn't realize Lucy Lu left the bathroom. Her hair is pulled over one shoulder, still wet and dripping. Her eyes are wide, her lips parted, and her chest is heaving under the robe's thin material.

She's wearing my blue bathrobe. It's too large and swimming on her, and it sends all the blood raging in my bloodstream on a way one ticket to my dick. It does the trick to cool my temper too.

"Lucy Lu," I say, then stop. What else can I say? "You're dripping."

Her eyes widen to the size of half dollars, and panic coats her features until I point to her hair, my other hand rubbing my neck.

"Your hair Lucy Lu. You're dripping all over the floor."

"Oh," she exclaims, a blush coloring her cheeks. She turns back to the bathroom, emerging a minute later with her hair wrapped in a towel.

"Yeah, sorry. We heard the yelling. I was afraid—. Well—I don't know what I was afraid of. I was simply worried."

She gives her shoulders a twist, hands ringing at her belly. She runs her hands over her burgeoning bump, and I want to reach out and do the same.

"No need. I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself."

She pulls her lips lightly against her teeth, trying to fight a smile.

"That much is apparent, Tim. It wasn't worried about you."

I don't know whether to be pleased or offended.

She sits on the edge of the bed, bending over sideways and running her hair through the towel. It's such a casually intimate gesture, and it makes me regret changing my clothes while she was in the bathroom. My hard-on would be easier to hide in jeans and a blazer then joggers and a too-tight t-shirt.

I don't know what the hell is wrong with me. This whole night has thrown me off my game. Time is ticking. I'm sure they're not going to leave us alone for much longer.

The rooms in the Hampton house are spacious, most holding a desk and tv stand, including the queen-sized beds. I grab the chair from the table, pulling it in front of Lucy Lu, where she sits on the bed. I rotate my shoulders, trying to loosen some of the tension built up in my neck.

She looks at me, eyebrows raised in question, still running her hair through the towel. It's wavy when it's dry but wet; it's full of curls and crimps. I'm tempted to reach out to feel the texture.

"So, let's talk about us," I say, and watch as she partially raises her defenses.

"Us," she squeaks, and it somehow makes me feel better that she's not as composed as she's trying to pretend she is.

"I want to apologize. I know I stepped out of line. I had no right whatsoever to say the things I did to your parents. To say what I did to your father."

She—falls. There's no other way to describe it. Her chest collapses, shoulders sloop. Her face closes, and before my eyes, I watch as she starts to raise her barriers. It makes me sick. She should never feel like she has to protect herself from me.

I quickly abandon my seat, claiming the spot next to her on the mattress. I grab her hands, pulling them to my chest.

"Don't get me wrong, Lucy Lu. I meant every word of it.  _ Every _ word. I just meant—well, I shouldn't have threatened your father for one."

Her hair is in her face, and I abandon her hands on my chest to gather her hair and twist it behind her head, letting it fall gracelessly behind her shoulders.

Her eyes bulge at my words, a tiny gasp slipping from her lips.

"You threatened daddy? What did you say to him?" She asks me with wonder in her voice.

I feel the heat rise in my cheeks, and I twist my neck on my shoulders, working out the kinks.

"You didn't hear? I thought that maybe that was why you got sick." At her awed expression, I continue. "You know, besides the whole pregnancy thing. I didn't behave very gentlemanly there for a few minutes."

Now that my blood has cooled, and the logical part of my brain has kicked back in, I'm genuinely embarrassed by what I did. Not that I wouldn't do it again. And, again, after that. But I could have handled it better.

"Now, I  _ have _ to know what you said," she coos, an excited lilt to her eyes.

"Some other time, maybe," I mumble as I feel the blood rush up my throat again. "I just want to put it out there, that I'm sorry for my behavior.

"You have nothing to apologize for, Tim.  _ Nothing.  _ Your behavior was honor personified. I'm just sorry, again, that we asked you to be here at all."

"Stop. I'm tired of the apologies."

I went with her to the twelve-week ultrasound. Besides the fact that her OB is in my building, I didn't want her to be alone. She must have apologized for inconveniencing me every five minutes. The truth of the matter is, I can't think of a place I would have rather been. Watching her child's heartbeat on that screen was one of the happiest moments of my life. Not to mention, I know she's having a girl, and she doesn't.

"I don't want to hear them," I say, "and you don't need to give them. But we should talk about you and the baby," I hesitate or a heartbeat, "and us."

There's that word again.  _ Us.  _ Fuck, does it do things to me.

"Okay," she breathes, pulling her lips over her teeth.

I gather my courage and barge into battle.

"I'm a doctor."

She smirks at me, lips half curved into a smile.

"Really, I hadn't noticed."

I power on, ignoring her teasing.

"I own my own home. You know my parents, my sister. I've loved you since you were a little girl." 

She gasps at that, and I realize I went too far, too fast.

I chuck her under the chin. "Come on, Lucy Lu, you love me too, you know it."

She looks flustered, and something passes through her eyes.

"What I'm trying to say here is that I am in—one hundred percent. I know you didn't ask me, and I'm basically forcing myself on you. But if you want this, I do too. Like, I  _ really _ want it."

I want you so bad I'm willing to trick you into marrying me. God, I'm a bastard.

"I don't understand," she says, genuine confusion on her face.

"Let me help you raise this baby. Let it be mine. We can live at my place. Actually, we'd need a bigger house. Two rooms just won't cut it. We need a nursery, and you need an office. We can find one that has two masters if you want. We can get married. It'll get your parents off your back. Hell, mine too. They are desperate enough for a grandchild; they may consider stealing one. Though, I guess, that's kind of what I'm doing now."

Shit. I'm stealing a wife and a baby.

I don't know what she sees on my face, but she burst into giggles, covering her mouth with her hands to try to keep them contained. I laugh along with her, smoothing her hair back behind her shoulders. Big belly laughs escape us, and she collapses against my chest, tears of laughter slipping down her cheeks.

Until suddenly, the laughter stops.

But the tears continue. Soul shattering, earth-quaking sobs are wracking her body, and I gather her to me, stretching out on the bed as she sobs away all the heartache caused by this evening.

My anger rises to the surface again. Anger at her father, her brother. Anger at a society that would dare belittle a strong and independent woman for being brave enough to journey into parenthood alone.

Her tears cool my heat to a simmer, reminding me that this isn't about me. It's about her.

I rub her back, whispering nothings into the top of her head. How brave she is, how much I love her. Things she can't hear or understand over the sounds of her tears.

Her weeping slows, then stops, the shuddering of her body calming into something resembling peace.

"Thank you," she whispers, face against my neck for the second time tonight.

I reply the only way I can.

"Marry me," I say, trying to put everything I can't speak into those two little words.

She looks at me, face inches from mine. Body pressed against me. Lying in the bed I slept alone in last night.

Something akin to hope passes over her features, and I bring my hand to her face, smoothing away her hair. I need to buy her a pack of rubber bands. If I'm going to be this close to her, I want to see her smile.

"Marry me," I say again, and I'm not embarrassed at all by the pleading tone my voice takes on. "Please."

She pushes to her elbow, using her hand against my chest to do so. Her eyes are bright, and I swear she's starting to glow.

The hand on my chest rises to my cheek, and she cups my face in her palm, running her thumb over my cheekbone.

"You know you'll be stuck with me then," she says, a playful lilt to her voice.

"Oh, God, yes," I reply, with perhaps a touch more enthusiasm than the situation strictly warrants.

She stares in my eyes, and I try to convey how  _ happy _ it would make me to be her husband, even in name only.

"Well then, Tim Lucas Bradford. Yes, I would love to be your wife."

And more surprising than anything else that's gone down tonight, Lucy Lu brings her lips down to mine and kisses me.

Chapter Six

Lucy

His lips are rough to the touch, and my first thought is I should give him my Chapstick. But then he traps my bottom lip between his, and I immediately change my mind.

I've always liked it a little rough.

He rolls from his side onto his back, taking me with him as his arms tighten around my waist.

I try to deepen the kiss and crawl my way onto his lap, but he freezes underneath me, tilting his chin until it forces us to break apart.

"We don't have to do this," he pants, his body giving the lie to the words. He's hard against me, long and thick. His pecs heave, and I feel his galloping heart from my position draped across his chest.

I try not to let the disappointment show on my face. Of course, Tim doesn't want me. He was trying to be kind, and I—.  _ Oh, my God _ . I am such a fool.

"I'm so sorry, Tim," I cringe, as I lever myself off him. "I didn't mean to—to push myself on you. I understand if you're not interested in me like that."

"What?" He snaps out with panic on his face. "No, oh no. Oh God, no," he babbles, rising on his elbows.

One minute I'm trying to push myself off him, the next thing I know Tim has both hands around my arms and is flipping our positions.

With a whoosh of my breath, I'm on my back underneath him. His hands are digging into my arms, pinning me down on the mattress.

It's just this side of pain, but I'm sure he doesn't realize he's doing it. I'm not sure whether it scares me, or I love it, which scares me even more.

Tim's gaze rakes over me, finally registering my nakedness, minus the dark slick material draped across my body. My nipples, always so sensitive these days, tighten into peaks, pulling the tender flesh until I want to cry out. The fabric, instead of hiding my arousal, only makes it more apparent.

"I—," his voice cracks, deeper than I've ever heard it. He pauses and clears his throat, then swallows and clears it again. I follow the motion with my eyes, watching the muscles in his neck flex and bulge, tightening my hold on the bedspread underneath me. 

"I wasn't saying stop, Lucy Lu. I was trying to say that's  _ not _ why I asked you to marry me. I don't want you thinking that I want to marry you simply to—," and he stops, seeming to hesitate on his words. "I don't want to take advantage of you. Or for you to think you have to do this, simply because I asked you to be my wife."

And if that doesn't set every straight woman's panties on fire, she needs to get her head checked.

His gaze wanders down my form, and I realize my robe,  _ his _ robe, has started to loosen, pulling away from my shoulders.

I'm covered, but barely. And I'm not wearing any panties.

His eyes heat and his tongue darts out to lick his lips. My desire pools in my center, all those glorious pregnancy hormones are making my craving for him sharper and tighter. My skin breaks out in goosebumps, and I shudder under the weight of his gaze.

He clears his throat, the fight for command of his emotions clear.

"Do you trust me?"

There's weight behind his question. I feel it as it sinks to the bottom of my soul.  _ Do I trust him _ ? I've already trusted him with everything. What's one more thing?

"Yes," I say, and I'm proud of the power behind that word. 

"Lucy Lu," he growls out, and the sound of it licks across my skin. "May I touch you?"

I don't usually like to be touched. I've rarely been intimate with a man without the aid of alcohol to loosen my limbs. But Tim asking permission to lay hands on my body lights me up like the sky on the fourth of July.

He's had his hands on me most of the evening, and all it's done is made me crave him more.

"I would like that very much."

"Are you sure?" He whispers, fingertips digging into my arms.

Instead of answering, I reach up between his grip and loosen the tie holding the robe together. As my blush colors my skin, I bare my breasts to the room.

_ Knock, knock, knock. _

A look of pain crosses his face, and his fingers dig into my arms before he lets me go, climbing to his knees next to me. He grasps the edges of the robe, slowly covering my skin, fingers grazing against me as he does so. I make to sit up, but he holds me down with a hand on my shoulder.

"Let them see you in my bed," he whispers in my ear, before climbing off and heading to the door. He adjusts himself, hiding the evidence of his arousal, and then opens the door wide enough that I can be seen from the hallway.

My mother stands stiff, a bevy of assistants behind her. She glances at me on the mattress, and some unknown emotion passes over her features. Then the Vice President's wife is back, and she stands tall and proud once more.

"Usually, we wouldn't allow you to share a room outside of holy matrimony. But that ship has sailed, I suppose. I've brought your things from your room, dearest. I thought you might prefer to sleep with your fiancée.

How strange, to hear her say it so plainly. I started this day an unwed single mother, and am ending it with a fiancée, in the bed of the boy I've loved since I was eight.

She doesn't speak to me, instead, staring at a spot between Tim standing at the foot of the bed, and me. He placed himself there as soon as he opened the door—an extra barrier between them and me.

With a flick of her wrists, the housekeeper and maid walk in, each carrying a suitcase. They head to the closet and chest, putting away items they only packed minutes ago without being asked. More of a mother to me than my own ever was, Mrs. Fleming sneaks me a wink when momma isn't looking.

"Thank you, mother," I reply from my spot prone on the bed, "that was very kind of you."

She nods at me regally, as if she's a queen offering favors. "Of course, dear. Anything to make this time easier for you."

Tim's scoff is audible.

"Breakfast is at nine o'clock. We expect you both there. There is a lot to discuss."

She looks around the room, ensuring that all within her grasp is how she likes it, then leaves without another word, her trail of staff following in her wake.

Tim follows her to the door, shutting it soundly behind her. He stands there for a moment, and the tension in the room rises. His shoulders hunch, then spread, as if he's made his decision.

He turns the lock, and the simple gesture turns my belly to butterflies and pulls things tight in my core.

The blue in my mind, vast and everlasting, bleeds and blends until red fills the space. The color of passion, the color of love. The color of blood.

"Where were we?" I say, pulling on the tie of the robe.

Without a word, Tim walks towards the bed, yanking his shirt off over his head.

Chapter Seven

Tim

I shouldn't be doing this. As the door closes on Mrs. Belle's back, my fingers tingle, feeling fleeing from my extremities.

Lucy Lu is pregnant. She's vulnerable, hormonal. It's the height of dishonor to take advantage of her like this after the night she's had. Though, what sort of man would I be if I didn't trust her to know what she wants?

I flick the lock on the door.

It takes more strength of mind then I thought possible to pivot on my heel to not pounce on her. She pulls the ties on my robe, so slowly it hurts, purring against the comforter as she bares herself to me. With a twist of her shoulders, it's off her entirely.

"Where were we?"

I yank my shirt over my head, closing the distance between us, but the sight of her bare pulls my feet to a stop.

"You're gorgeous," I heave, all the breath knocked from my lungs.

I've spent so much time trying  _ not _ to imagine what Lucy Lu looked like naked; I'm not adequately prepared when I finally do.

Her hair is drying in tangles around her head. I want to dig my fingers into the mass and pull until she's arching underneath me. Her brown eyes glow, sparking in anticipation of what is to come. She sucks her lips in between her teeth, and I want to bite them until she moans into my mouth.

Pregnancy has caused her body to blossom.

Her breasts, supple and round, sit heavy on her chest, darkening nipples puckered tight under my gaze. Her belly has grown since I saw it at the ultrasound. The line marking her pregnancy is evident, trailing from belly button to the patch of hair guarding her clit. I want nothing more in life than to lick my way across it.

Her knees spread, and I get my first glimpse of her inner thigh. Her skin is golden and smooth, and I catalog the minor scars and imperfections, smiling as their origin stories run through my brain.

To make love to a woman I've loved all my life, someone I know everything about, but have never kissed before this night. It's a heady feeling.

Forbidden. But, oh, so right.

I shed my pants, letting them drop to the floor. After a moment's hesitation, I slip off my boxers as well.

She's watching me, eyes taking in every detail. She doesn't miss a thing, catches every thought that flicks across my face. For all that she didn't follow the family business, she was trained in observation by the best. She can read every emotion I feel before I can register it myself.

As she watches me come to terms with the boundaries, we've already crossed, and the one's I'm getting ready to leave in the dust.

She's mine. I've already claimed her. By the end of the night, it'll be branded against her skin.

I move, joining her on the bed.

I want to lick her. To taste her. But first, I need to kiss her.

I climb close to her, oh so close, leaving just a breath of space between my body and hers. The tension in the room is palpable, and the air feels thick and tacky as I suck it into my lungs.

Gently, I place a finger under her chin, tipping her head until the expanse of her throat is exposed to me. Her eyes close, and her body arches, trying to follow the motion of my fingers.

Leaning in, my breath whispering against her ear, I husk out, "I've wanted to do this for  _ years. _ " Then I move my lips to hers.

I claim her mouth, tasting her lips, and exploring her with my tongue. Her hands rise to my head, pulling and pressing me to her.

It's only a kiss, and she's frenzied, body trembling underneath me. Her response to my touch sets my blood to boil. It also gives me a purpose.

I leave her mouth, and she whimpers at the loss.

I flatten my tongue, licking broad stripes down her neck and across her shoulders. Her collarbones are next, and I lay little kisses against her skin.

She digs her hands into my hair, trying to hurry me along. But now that I'm here, I won't be rushed.

"So impatient," I playfully scold, allowing my lips to ghost over hers before working my way down again.

"You can't  _ imagine _ the fantasies I've had about having you under me. Or over me. I'm not picky."

She mewls underneath me, body arcing in search of deeper contact.

"I'm taking my time," I growl against her skin, tongue lapping against her breast's side. "I may never get the opportunity to get you like this again. I  _ won't _ be rushed."

"I won't be teased," she pants, and before I realize what's happened, I'm on my back with Lucy straddling my chest.

She kisses me, rough and biting. Her tongue swirls against my mine with an urgency that fills my bloodstream. Her nails dig into my scalp, fingers tugging on my hair.

"The last time I had sex," she whispers harshly against my face, "was when I made this baby. I need to replace the memory of his touch with yours."

I moan into her mouth, my hands relentless over her back.

"Consider it done," I snarl, and with a hand on her hip and a hand in her hair, I flip her, so she's on her back again.

"Mine," I growl as I spread her legs and settle in the cradle of her lap. "You're mine now, mine tomorrow, mine for the rest of our lives."

I pierce her flesh, pushing aside the gentleness for another time.

"Yes," she cries out as I bottom against her core, and it's all the confirmation I need.

I set a pace that's quick and sharp, thrusting into her with precision. I'm fierce in my passion, and any other time I'd worry about causing her pain. But if she needs to forget, then I'm going to give her something to remember.

I want to savor her, to bask in the glory of my triumph. But I have the rest of our lives to do that. Tonight, she needs to know that she belongs to me. 

She quivers underneath me, nails digging into my back to the point I know I'll be marked tomorrow.

Good.

The world can see I belong to her too.

Her pussy is tight, the dampness from her arousal swathing my cock in her juices. Her belly, swelling from the life growing inside it, rubs against my abs with every thrust. It heightens my desire to leave my brand on her heart and inside her soul.

I fold myself around her, bending to pull her nipple between my lips. It's full and tight, and she keens as I flick the sensitive bud with my tongue. She tastes like sex and sweat, and I can't wait until her breasts swell and leak and fill my mouth with sustenance.

She mumbles against my head, and I hear  _ too much _ and begging for  _ more _ in the same sentence.

I suck my way back up her throat, ensuring I leave a trail with the proof of my conquest.

She curls herself around me, arms tight, and ankles locked around my back. My hips snap against her, hard and fierce. I gather her in my arms, holding her to my heart.

Her panting turns to cries, loud and soulful against my ears. I cover her mouth with mine, licking, sucking, twisting our tongues together.

She's building, tightening, straining against me, and with one hand on her face, holding her against my lips, I slip the other between us, fingers fast and firm against her clit.

She explodes, body bowing underneath me, cries reaching the ceiling.

"Tim," she mewls, and I swallow her sound, taking it into myself and placing it close to my heart. I chase my orgasm, using her body as I will. Motions sharp and uncoordinated, I spill myself inside her as she trembles in my arms.

"Mine," I say, as my chest heaves on top of her, pinning her underneath me.

"Yours," she pants, grip so tight I don't think she'll ever let me go.

Mine.

Chapter Eight

Lucy

  
  


I'm warm. 

Too warm. 

I try to push the covers off, only to be met with sinew and muscle instead. My eyes snap open, panic coursing through my veins before I remember where I am. And what I did.

"It's just me, Lucy Lu," he whispers against my ear, and while my instinct is to flee, my body relaxes against him. "It's just me."

_ It's Tim.  _

Tim's arms are wrapped tight around me, the coarse hair on his arms and belly is foreign against my skin. I jerk in his embrace, momentarily startled at the contact.

Instead of letting me go, though, he tightens his hold on me, sliding down to cup my burgeoning baby bump.

"You're safe," he whispers in my ear, and my body melts against him.

Of course, I'm safe. I'm in Tim's arms. Of all the people in my life, he's the only one who's ever cared about my comfort— who puts my needs first.

He curves himself around me, lifting his hand from my belly just long enough to gather my hair and tuck it under my head, then returns to caressing the form that holds my child.

"I'm sorry I scared you."

His hand is moving up and down, thumb grazing my stomach in long smooth strokes. He places little kisses on my neck, lips trailing up and down and over me.

"You didn't."

It's the truth. I scared myself when I surrendered to him so quickly last night. I scared myself by the depth of the feelings I let escape during our coupling. I scared myself by spending the night in the arms of another person.

I've never spent the night with someone before.  _ Never _ . I'm sure I did as a child. I must have at some point. But it was so long ago that I have no memory of it.

I've never had a man in my home before; in my bed. When the urge for sex got too strong to be ignored, I made arrangements and filled the need. 

_ Like a business transaction.  _

I have rules in place for a reason, and for the most part,  _ pregnancy excluded _ , those rules have kept me safe.

Not only did I break them all last night. I broke them for Tim. Enthusiastic and with a smile on my face. The thought alone makes me want to run in the other direction.

Though, by the way, he trembled under my touch, I have a feeling Tim broke a few rules of his own.

Still, no more substantial than an apple, the child makes itself known by the continuous pressure on my bladder. I can't feel the baby yet, but that doesn't stop me from peeing a hundred times a day. It's only going to get worse too. The thought makes me smile. I never in a million years thought an unexpected pregnancy would make me so happy.

"I have to use the potty," I say and feel him chuckle behind me.

"This isn't a ruse, is it? To escape me. If I let you go, do you promise to come back?"

My smile widens, filling my chest with happiness. How is it, despite what little time we spent together over the years, he alone knows me best?

I roll in his arms, turning to face him. His fingers resume their grazing, nails lightly brushing up and down my back. My eyes roll up in my head, enjoying the pleasant sensations it sends up and down my spine.

He's looking at me, and I wish I could ask what he sees.

"Yes, I promise to come back. I don't have a room anymore, remember? Besides, if you don't let me go, you're liable to get peed on."

His eyes twinkle, amusement shining from their depths.

"I'm not usually into that sort of thing, but if it's the only way to keep you by my side, then I can run with it."

I throw my head back and laugh, which only makes me have to pee more. I push away from him, and he lets me, rolling to his back with his hands behind his head.

I crawl to the edge of the bed, turning to see him as I slide to the floor.

The sheet is covering his crotch and one leg. That's it. With his arms bent at the elbows and his washboard abs on full display, he looks well fucked and sated.

It's a good look on him.

I take my time in the bathroom, hunting my hairbrush out of the toiletries bag the staff brought last night. I wash my face with one of the wipes, then slather on a layer of moisturizer. I'm debating about taking a shower when Tim yells from the bedroom.

"Did you fall in? Should I come and rescue you? I'm getting cold without your heat."

How ridiculous can he be? 

A final glance in the mirror says it doesn't matter. I'm still smiling ear to ear. I flip my head upside down, gathering my hair at the top of my head. I secure it in a messy bun, up and away from my neck.

"Would you rescue me from the toilet?" I quip, leaving the bathroom door ajar when I leave.

"I'd rescue you from the moon if it meant I'd get you back in bed."

I crawl in from the opposite side, closer to where he lies. He doesn't reach for me; he just enjoys the view of me slinking up to his body.

"We're supposed to be down for breakfast any minute now."

His eyes harden but thaw just as fast.

"I don't give a shit what your parents want. Not anymore. We'll go down to breakfast when we're good and ready."

Yesterday, the thought of someone speaking like that about daddy would have scared me to death. Now it turns me on.

He moves the sheet aside, giving me my first glimpse of his glorious physique this morning. He's much more muscular than the button-downs, and polo shirts give him credit.

"Come here."

I slither in next to him, rubbing my ass against his crotch as I settle myself against him. His body responds immediately, growing and lengthening against my backside. I reach behind me and circle his girth in my hand, enjoying how it fills my palm.

He groans against my ear, hands reaching to cup my breasts.

"May I touch you?" He sighs, hands hovering just out of reach.

I nod with enthusiasm, tightening my grip on his dick.

My breasts used to be of average size—nothing particularly special about them. Now though, my bra's sit tight across my flesh, digging into my sides. They're growing as quickly as my stomach is. My nipples, never sensitive before, now send fireworks and expositions through my body at the slightest provocation. It was the first indication I had that I was pregnant. I started showering in a sports bra, the stream of the water too much for me to handle.

His lips latch onto my skin, where my shoulder curves into my neck. He sucks, then twirls his tongue in a circle.

My breasts fill his hands, and he massages them with his fingers, pulling sounds from my throat I didn't know I could make. When his fingers find my nipples, the skin across them already pulled tight and achy, Tim squeezes with the gentlest of pressure, causing me to arch and moan against him.

His cock, the same one that speared me with such vigor last night, leaks into my palm, and I spread it down his length with what little coordination I have with my hand behind my back.

I rushed him last night. Desperation and desire are releasing a side of myself I keep hidden away. Like the gentleman he is, he let me run the show. As hot as it was, I'd be willing to bet strictly carnal pleasure isn't typically his thing.

This morning, he's back to his original plan of action. He's in charge now, and he'll do as he pleases.

Tim tips my head back and to the side, and as soon as I'm within reach, he kisses me. Deep and dark and sensual.

With one hand playing my breasts like a musical instrument, the other slides down my body, palm petting me like velvet. Tim's fingers find my center, and I spread my legs for him, giving him all the access he needs.

His fingers part me, and I whimper at the touch, craving everything and anything he's willing to give. You can hear how wet I am, the sounds of his fingers running through my slickness. It only makes me wetter.

"Fuuuuck, Lucy Lu," he growls out, slipping a finger into my entrance. I buck into his touch, hips snapping against his palm. He thrusts into my hand, then pushes it away entirely, dick trapped in my ass cheeks' swell.

He pulls on a nipple, giving it a sharper tug, soothing the sting with his palm before repeating it. His fingers gain speed, thumb rubbing my clit, and the competing sensations send my body into overdrive.

Thanks to hormones, and years of pent up desires, I'm hypersensitive to every thrust, every caress, and my orgasm builds taught and wild inside me.

"Can I fuck you?" He rumbles in my ear, and I twist my head again to give him my response, twining my fingers in his hair as I climb inside his mouth with my tongue.

He leans me forward with a palm on my hip just enough to give him room to work, then lines up with my pussy, slowly edging himself inside.

I don't want it slow. I want it fast and hard, and I rock myself onto him.

His control is slipping fast, and I smile into his kiss, delighted that he's as desperate for me as I am for him.

My head is on his arm, and he reaches around me, grasping my hand and linking our fingers as his hips start to move and thrust. I wrap my other arm around them both, holding our entwined hands to my chest.

His free hand always moves, rubbing my breasts, my hips. His hand is enormous, and he radiates energy and dominance as he twists my body how he wills. He holds me still against him one moment, only to pin me forward to change the angle of his penetration.

I've never let myself be in a situation where another person pinned me. He's not that much bigger than me, but the raw power exuding from him makes him seem twice his size. Suddenly, I'm praying he'll keep me trapped underneath him forever.

_ Why did it take so much to push us together finally? _

He releases my mouth, lips trailing kisses over my sweaty skin. The room is alive with the sounds of our lovemaking, my whimpers, his grunts. The sound of impact as he buries himself inside me and the echoes of my slick as he pulls himself back out again.

I can smell the sex in the air.

I wish I had a mirror.

His hand trails to my clit, touching himself as he fucks into my slit and then rubbing frantic circles across my nub, pulling wave after wave of pleasure from me. He releases my hand, only to latch onto my torso, holding me to him as he pins me to the mattress, half on my belly and half on my side. I spare a fleeting moment to wonder if this is still safe for the baby, but he'd never put us in harm. 

Color bursts behind my eyes and my orgasm explodes across my skin.

I flex and twist, pushing myself against him, and his fingers dig into my flesh as he buckles against my back.

"Fuck, Lucy," he moans against my neck before he latches only my shoulder blade, sucking the meat into his mouth.

The use of my real name sets me off.

His hand finds my breasts again, and I start to twitch anew, as he pushes me through my first orgasm and into another.

His thrusting slows, and his weight lessons on my back, but his fingers never stop their movement, and his mouth never leaves my flesh. I'm building again, the sounds of him whispering my name against my skin setting my body on fire, but it's too much. Too soon. My mind and body both need a moment to recover.

"Stop, stop, stop," I pant, covering his hands with my own to cease the overstimulation of my body.

His growl is visceral in response. 

"Why do you make me do that?" He begs lips against my ear. "You spur me through it, with your dripping little cunt, and your pouting, begging mouth, when you know I want to take my time."

Suddenly, I don't need any time to recover at all.

"Sorry," I pant, heart, thundering out of my chest. "Today is not that day," I gasp, trying to control my sudden onset of giggles.

"Tomorrow doesn't look good either," he chuckles out.

Before I know it, we're lying side by side in the bed, holding each other through laughter.

Chapter Nine

Tim

  
  


It's well after ten o'clock by the time we're showered and making our way down the stairs. Lucy Lu is wearing a purple sundress, her hair in a tail at the base of her neck. If you look close—you don't have to look that hard at all—you can see the evidence of our lovemaking scattered across her shoulders.

I wasn't thinking about it at the time, but it's sure to make a statement this morning.

I dressed casually, because the Belle's always prefer a more formal atmosphere, even while on vacation. When you're in the public eye, there's no such thing as a break

I've heard David say that exact phrase more times than I can count over the years. So, I'm in cargo shorts, a polo, and flip flops. David despises the sandals.

I laced our fingers before we left the bedroom and kept a hold of her as we make our way through the house. Silence falls when we walk into the formal dining room, all eyes falling on us.

"Took you long enough," David grouses from his spot at the head of the table, and I freeze in my tracks, anger simmering at the surface before Lucy Lu slides closer and slips a kiss on my cheek. 

If my anger doesn't melt away, it at least diminishes into a more tolerable level.

"I apologize, Daddy," she replies with more respect than I could have managed. "I slept poorly last night. Tim was giving me time to recover."

The only response she gets is a grunt. 

Everyone has already eaten. They're waiting for us. There's only the Belle's and Jackson and Sterling still at the table.

I pull a chair out for Lucy Lu, getting her settled in, and grab the chair next to her, immediately pulling her right hand into my lap. Thank God she's left-handed.

Jackson is staring at me as if his looks alone could turn me to dust. For the first time in a dozen hours, I remember that Lucy isn't just Lucy Lu; she's my best friend's little sister. Fuck a duck on toast. I'm going to have to talk to Jackson.

Sterling is grinning as if we just told him it was Christmas instead of the fourth of July.

"Well," says Mrs. Belle, an emotion I can't quite place in her voice. 

"Well indeed," grunts David, and there's no such mystery in his tone.

"I'm not sure what the problem is, Daddy," Lucy Lu begins as I start piling food onto her plate. I pick up the percolator, silently asking her if she'd like a cup of coffee. She holds up her thumb and finger, indicating a tiny amount.

I take one of the delicate china cups the Belle's insist on using, fill it halfway with coffee, and the other half with tea. When I reach for the sugar, she shakes her head no. 

"Tim comes from a good family. You're friends with his parents. You still golf with Mr. Bradford once a month. He owns his own home. He's a doctor for heaven's sake. I'm not sure why you would have any objections to this whatsoever."

I smirk to myself when I realize she's giving her father the same litany of excuses I gave her last night as to why we should get married. Somehow it sounds so reasonable coming from her.

"Lucy, dear," Mrs. Belle speaks up, and I'm mildly surprised to hear her say anything on the subject. Mrs. Belle is usually a seen and not heart sort of wife. At least in front of other people.

"Tim's suitability is not what we're displeased about."

"Displeasure," David grumbled from his end of the table. I shoot him a nasty look, and he gives me one right back.

"The issue here," Mrs. Belle emphasis, trying to speak over the staring contest her husband and I are competing in, "is the way this all came about. Your father and I don't understand why you felt you had to keep your relationship a secret.  _ Nor _ do we understand why you felt it was acceptable to get pregnant outside of wedlock in the world. That is not what we are about Lucy. That is not what this family is about. That is not the sort of example we want to set for this country."

Knowing me better than we'd ever had admitted twenty-four hours ago, Lucy digs her fingers into my thigh, effectively stopping whatever burst of anger I was going to explode with. 

But when David looks to speak, I lose my temper anyway. My hand slams down on the table, startling everybody in the vicinity.

"What Lucy does with her life, and her body is none of your Goddamn concern. Or the countries for that matter. Not that you've ever given her any concern her entire life. If it didn't affect you in some way, you never gave a shit."

David gathers air in his chest, ready to throw down over the breakfast table, but Sterling cuts us off.

"Enough," he shouts into the room. "What's done is done. It can't be changed. What we need to focus on is what's going to happen moving forward."

"Yes," sighs Mrs. Belle, her relief palpable. "Exactly. Though we can't change what has already taken place, we need to write the narrative from here on out."

"Narrative," I grumble under my voice, and Lucy Lu digs her nails into my thigh again. I glance at her and see the waves on uneasiness pulsing from her like sonar. There I go, trying to make it better and only making it worse. 

She's right, as usual. Better just to give them their way. Or let them think they're getting it at least. Lucy's survived this long, a sheep among the lion. Though with the calculations I see going on behind her eyes, maybe it's not so much a sheep among the lion as it is a tiger hiding in sheep's clothing.

I keep my peace, for now, digging into the food on my plate. Lucy holds her hand on my leg, and I lower my left to cover hers where it sits. Just having her next to me eases some of the tension roiling through my body.

I listen to them talk about press releases and announcements. Changing the annual fourth of July party into an engagement gala. I don't give a shit. It makes no difference to me. If Lucy doesn't mind, then I don't either. The only thing I care about from this moment on is making sure Lucy Lu is happy.

"Tim," Jackson speaks from across the table. "We're going to miss our t-time. Go get changed, and we'll meet you in the foyer."

David stands from the table, tossing his napkin onto his plates.

"No thanks," I say, taking a look at Lucy Lu. "I'm gonna pass."

"What?" 

He looks utterly bewildered.

"I'm going to pass," I say again, emphasizing my words. "Now that everything's out in the open, I'd rather be with Lucy."

David looks befuddled, unable to understand why I would willingly spend time with his daughter when I could be golfing with them. Jackson rolls his eyes until something snaps in his brain. His eyes widen, his mouth parting before he squints at me in hard anger.

"You and I are gonna talk, Tim," he growls just low enough to hear him. I give him a sharp nod. I owe him that much. 

Not today, though. I make a mental note not to be left alone with him for the next couple of days.

Sterling is grinning ear to ear, and even Mrs. Belle has a small, almost indulgent look on her face. 

The dining room clears out, and it's just me and Lucy Lu, left to our own devices.

Lucy Lu leans back in her chair, both of her hands encircling her china cup filled with coffee-flavored milk.

"Thank you," she says, and my face squishes up in confusion.

"For what? I didn't do anything particularly thankworthy this morning."

"You were here. That's good enough."

  
  


"What shall we do today?" I ask, taking a rejuvenating sip of my coffee. "Shall we return to bed?"

She laughs and blushes, bringing her hand up to her hair to smooth it into place. Though she's already perfectly put together. 

"No," she laughs, shaking her head. "I need to be able to walk. Let's go into town. I'll go get my stuff."

"I'll come with you," I grin, and she shoves me back in my chair.

"No. You can stay right here. Give me those stupid shoes; I know you only put them on to irritate Daddy. I'll bring you a real pair. Do you need your wallet?"

I lean over in my chair, flicking the flip flops off and handing them to her.

"Yes, please. The keys for a car too."

She leans down to place a kiss on my cheek, then turns and leaves me alone in the dining room.

I don't stay that way for long. Within a minute, my cell phone rings. I don't need to hear the personalized ring tone to know who it is. I'm surprised it took this long. 

"Hey mom," I answer the call, without bothering to check the caller id.

"Hey, honey. Hi, son," my parents reply on speaker, sounding amused more than anything else. I don't prompt or ask what's up. There's only one reason they're calling me.

My mother clears her throat before continuing.

"So, we had an interesting phone call from David and Barbara."

I imagine they did.

"Oh?"

I can almost hear their irritation levels rise at my aloofness. My dad takes over.

"Son, is there anything you want to tell us? You know we love you. We're proud of you, no matter what decisions you make."

See!  _ That's _ what I'm talking about. My chest swells with affection for my parents, and that stokes the fire of rage I have burning for Lucy's.

"I know, guys. I also know that Belle probably lit into you pretty hard. I'm sorry about that. In answer to your question, I don't know yet. Do you trust me?"

They chorus,  _ of course, _ before I even finish asking the question.

"Then, don't worry. I've got this."

"We're not worried, son.  _ Intrigued  _ more like. I'd bet money you haven't taken little Lucy to bed,  _ yet _ —." 

_ Oh God _ , a shudder runs through me at the thought of my parents discussing my sex life. Of course, they'd be wrong, wouldn't they? The problem now isn't taking her to bed. It's going to be letting her leave it.

My mother is a pediatrician, like myself. I joined her practice when I finished medical school. My father was a lawyer—retired now. For all that, though, they're hippies at heart. Worrying about whether their children are getting laid on the regular is just common courtesy in their eyes. My mother is still talking.

"—You know how badly we want grandchildren. If you want to provide us with a few, I'm not picky about how that happens."

"You know, I've wondered how often Angie gets the  _ I want Grandkids _ spiel." 

Angie is my sister. She and her husband, have  _ no _ desire to procreate. They work boring jobs nine months out of the year, living like college students to travel the remaining three. 

My dad snorts, which brings a smile to my face, but my mother responds to my rhetorical question. 

"Not as often as you, I admit. They've thrown around the idea of adopting a dog though, which we'd get custody of while they're overseas. So that's something to look forward to."

I can't help it. I laugh. Leave it to my parents to equate unpaid dog sitting as grandparent duty.

"Okay. I've got to go. I love you guys. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

A thought occurs to me, and I shout, "Wait," before they hang up on me.

_ "Yes?" _ My mother replies, humor lacing her voice.

"Can you overnight me Gamma's engagement ring?"

_ That _ catches their attention. Their combined gasps echo through the phone line.

"Tim Nathanial Bradford! Did you knock up little Lucy Lu?" 

My father sounds horrified.

"I didn't know you had it in you, son." 

My mother sounds proud. 

"She's carrying my child, yes. I'd like to give her the ring."

I'll give it to them; they jump on board  _ much _ quicker than the Belle's did. I swear I can hear my mother dancing in the background.

"I can't just put Gamma's ring in a box and give it to the UPS man, Tim. But I'll see what arrangements I can make to get it to you. I'm assuming it can't wait until you guys get back?"

_ Could it?  _ Probably.  _ Do I want to? _ Not in the least.

"Did David sound particularly pleased when you spoke with him?"

Now it's my dad's turn to grunt.

"I'll get it to you, son if I have to board a plane myself."

Fuck, I love my parents.

"Thank you, both. I mean it. I love you."

"We love you too, son."

I have to wipe the moisture from my eyes when I hang up the line. 

Chapter Ten

Lucy

  
  


I can't think of the last time I've had a more enjoyable day. We decided to walk the antiquing district. Tim and antiques are not two words I'd ever put together. Except for maybe, Tim does not like to go antiquing.

Tim is more a barefoot, jeans, and flannel kind of guy.

He's a good sport, however, and even picked up a few records for his parents, and an ancient fertility idol for his sister. He seemed to think it would be hilarious. I know Angie pretty well. _ I _ think it'll end up at a local thrift shop.

It's New York in the summertime, and the humidity is killing me. I can't help wondering if it feels this bad this year because I'm pregnant.

"Hungry?"

He looks at me, gaze drifting up and down my body.

"Starving," he mumbles, and I feel the blush rise in my chest.

"For food, Tim. Do you want to get something to eat?"

His smile is goofy as he links our fingers and uses our joined hands to point to an eatery across the street.

"I take it,  _ you're _ hungry," he asks as we step into the air-conditioned building.

"I'm always hungry these days.  _ Always _ . Even when the smell of food makes me want to puke, which is often, I admit, underneath it all, my stomach is rumbling."

A natural smile crosses his face. "One of the mothers told me once that she used to eat mashed potatoes so that she had something to throw up again."

_ Ugh. _ "Oh, God, please stop talking. Just the thought makes me want to yak."

He laughs good-naturedly while pointing to a table in the corner. It's a seat yourself sort of place, even if the sandwiches cost twenty bucks a pop. 

I order a BLT, and Tim follows me, with two sweet teas on the side. They aren't the same as southern sweet tea, but beggars can't be choosers.

The sandwich is divine, bacon crispy, but not burnt. The eggs are fluffy, with enough cheese to taste but not to overwhelm, and salt and pepper burst on my palate. I concentrate on my eating. It's a delicate dance these days—making sure I eat, so that doesn't make me sick. I'd say my ratio is 70/30. 

It doesn't take long before Tim breaks the silence, though.

I watch covertly as he raises his bottle to his lips before saying, "We haven't gotten the chance to talk about things."

I can't help the sardonic smile that graces my face. He has the decency to chuckle, but powers on.

"Not about  _ that _ , but things in general. How are you handling it,  _ really _ ? The pregnancy, I mean."

I take another bite of my sandwich, more to give myself a chance to get my thoughts in order.  _ How am I doing? _ About as well as can be expected, I suppose.

"I freaked out at first. I'm still freaking out if I'm honest. Lots of time with my therapist."

He nods in understanding, no judgment on his features. 

"You're a careful person by nature. I'm sure, no offense, that this wasn't part of your five-year plan."

Ah, the five-year plan. The man does know me well.

"Yeah, not exactly. I'm not sure how much Jackson told you. I'm on, well,  _ was _ on the pill. I took it religiously, never missed a dose."

"Let me guess, UTI," he muses, a playful look in his eyes.

"Sinus infection, actually."

"Amoxicillin, the ruiner of best-laid plans."

I want to laugh, but the tension of the past few months is building in my chest again. Tim doesn't need to know the details. It doesn't paint me in the best light. But somehow, I want him to understand what a hot mess I truly am. He put himself out there for me. 

He needs to realize now the mistake he's made before we get in too deep.

"I had an arrangement with a gentleman from out of town. He'd text me whenever he was around, every few weeks or so, and we'd get together. We'd meet at Lula's. I'd arrive first, have a drink or two to loosen up. You know how well I handle interpersonal relations." At his naughty smirk, I cover my smile. "Besides you apparently. We'd walk the block to the hotel, do our, ummm,  _ business, _ and I'd be on my way. The last time, we didn't use a condom. No biggie, I thought. I'm on the pill.

"When I missed my period two weeks later, I called. No one answered. He never responded to my texts. I used my,  _ hmmm _ , resources, and traced the number I had for him to find out it was a burner. Jake Smith doesn't exist."

Anger covers his features. His eyes bulge, and his body leans forward in the seat, his hands clenching in his lap.

I mentally prepare myself for the berating to come. It's no less than I deserve—the loss of Tim's friendship and the offer of his protection. My father was right—I am a stupid little slut, and I deserve everything that comes to me.

I sit up straighter and let steel line my spine. I may be the weakest of the heard, but I'm still a Belle. I can take it.

"Did Jackson use his person thingy to look for him?"

_ Person Thingy. _ I love it.

"The investigator on staff? Yes."

He takes a deep breath, and then another, before he says, "If that man ever shows up again, I'll kill him. I'll kill him with my bare hands."

_ That _ —was  _ not _ the response I was expecting.

"Aren't you angry with me?"

He looks bewildered. "Why would I possibly be upset with  _ you? _ "

"Because I was irresponsible and reckless to start with."

I feel his scoff of disgust down to my toes.

"No.  _ That _ is your father speaking. You put your trust in a man, as every woman should have the right to do, and he betrayed you. In the worst possible way. This is in no way your fault."

_ Isn't it, though? _

"I should have insisted he used a condom. We could have gone and got some."

He shrugs, in a move that encompasses how he feels about that.

"Yeah, okay. You should have used a condom. I'm well aware that it only takes once. Then you have the other side of that equation, where doctors tell millions of women every year that  _ 'these things take time. _ ' So, I think that it was a reasonable assumption to discount pregnancy while on the pill from one encounter without a condom.

"Either way, you should have been able to count on your partner to hold up his end of the bargain. Every time a man sticks his cock in a woman, he signs a universal contract saying he's aware of his actions. It's as simple as that. The invisible man didn't hold up his end of the bargain."

I don't know if I want to blush or blanch at hearing him say cock, but surprisingly enough, it makes me feel better.

"So," I say, tipping my head to the side, "that's how that happened."

I take another bite of my sandwich, then quickly spit it back out. I've reached the point of return for food.

I can hear him thinking.

"Ask it. I know you want to."

"Okay, I will. You didn't think about termination, knowing the way your family would react?"

I lean back in the chair, pulling my feet cross-legged into my lap. I know it's odd, but the pose brings me peace, even when I'm not meditating.

"I did. I'm not ashamed to admit it. Our parents are right-winged traditionalists, but I'm not. I can't be, doing the job that I do. So yeah, I thought about it. I thought about it hard. I even had an appointment scheduled in Atlanta, under a different name. But then I thought about the job that I have. Most of my families are kind, honest, hard-working parents who are in situations that are out of their control and need extra help. 

"I get called in when a kid comes to class is too small filthy clothes, and the administration fears abuse. When I get to the home, though, I see that they aren't being abused but can't afford clean clothes. They aren't being paid attention to the way they need it, because a single mom of three is working two jobs.

"My situation is not ideal, yeah, but I could provide a good home for this baby. Between my income, which isn't great but isn't minimum wage by any means, and the trust fund my grandfather left for me, I can afford to give a child everything they need with love to spare. 

"I realized that it wasn't fair to myself to let outside forces make this decision for me. Besides," and here's the awful truth of the matter, "I don't make friends easily. Dating is hard. That's why, well, I was doing what I was doing. I thought I was playing it safe. I don't tolerate social settings easily. Not that I can't, of course. I just prefer not to. Who knows when,  _ if,  _ I'd ever get the chance to be a mother again."

"You'll make an amazing mom Lucy Lu. Hell, you already are. That baby isn't even born yet, and you're already fighting for it."

I can't help the tears that well in my eyes, and I sneak a sniffle when I wipe them away.

"We'll give that baby the best home it could possibly have."

I turn away until I get my features back under control. 

"My turn," I grin.

His hand comes up to rub the back of his neck, and he ducks his head to the side before he straightens up and meets my eyes.

"All's fair in love and war, I suppose."

I suck in a fortifying breath before I speak. 

"Why in God's name would you want to marry me?"

His ears turn an adorable shade of pink, and he clears his throat roughly.

"The truth," he questions, and I suck my lip between my lips and nod my head slightly.

"Please."

His eyes close, as if in prayer, before he looks me in the eye.

"Truth then. I've always had a little crush on you."

At my sharp intake of breath, he gives a little one-shoulder shrug, in a ' _ what are you gonna do' _ sort of way.

"Even when we were kids, I always admired how you marched to your own drum, refusing to be sucked into the drama of your family. I fell a little in love with you the night of your senior prom. The way you held your head up, white dress flowing around you, descending the grand staircase in the Belle mansion, stole a part of my heart.

"Watching you grow from girl to woman, only cemented my feelings. It wasn't a hard decision to throw myself at your feet and beg you to take me. The real question is, why did you say yes?"

My heart is fluttering out of my chest, and I'm moments away from crying. My mouth dries like the Sahara, and it feels like ants are crawling on my skin. I'm not sure what I was expecting. I'm so far out of my comfort zone. I know, though, that  _ that _ wasn't it.

"I accepted," I breath, and have to pause to gather my thoughts. "I accepted your proposal for too many reasons to count. Mainly though, because I've always loved you too. In a secret, embarrassing, hiding in the closet sort of way."

He starts to chuckle, eyes filled with amusement. Then the chuckling turns to laughing, which converts to tears running down his eyes as he holds his stomach and howls, full-bellied and free. All eyes turn to stare at us, but he doesn't notice any of them. 

His eyes never leave mine, staring at him like he's the strangest creature I've ever encountered. 

When he seems to settle, at last, he wipes the tears from his eyes, giving me a beatific smile. 

"What a pair we make, my Lucy Lu. Imagine if we'd had this talk five years ago. Hell, five months."

I smile at him, sadness behind my eyes.

"The child I'm carrying might actually be yours."

The grin melts off his face, to be replaced with a steely composure.

"The child in your belly  _ is _ my child. He's mine because I say he's mine, and I'd like to see someone try to tell me different."

Tears spring to my face again, and I blink in rapid succession, trying to will them away.

I reach for him, bringing my hand to his face.

"I'm tired. Take me to bed?"

He covers my hand with his, rubbing his cheek against my palm.

"I thought you'd never ask." 

Chapter Eleven

Tim

It's three days before my parents finally get back to me. The fourth of July / Engagement party is tomorrow night, and we go home two days after that. If I realized it would be that difficult to get the ring to me, I wouldn't have bothered asking.

"Hey guys," I answer the phone, and they respond with the usual chorus of hello's that's a staple of conversing with them together. Honestly, it can get a little dizzying sometimes.

"Sorry, it took us so long to get back to you. We went up to Mr. Smither's jewelry shop, explained the situation to him. We've always been good customers to them."

"So have the Belle's," I mumble under my breath. 

"Exactly," my father chimes in, pleased I caught on so quick.

"So, he made a call to a friend, who made a call and so on. It arrived in the diamond district this morning and should be at," I listen as papers rumple in the background. "Where's the sheet with the address on it, sweetie?" 

_ The diamond district? _ My parents' man. All this, to give me a stupid ring, I could have grabbed from their house three days. They really are amazing.

"Aha!"

My father rattles off a jewelry store located a couple of miles from the Hamptons house.

"You should still have plenty of time to swing by and get it," my dad says, pride in his accomplishment evident in his voice.

"I want pictures Tim, of when you propose, and the ring on little Lucy Lu's finger. Send me a belly shot too! I need to post it on Facebook. Let all the old biddies know I'm finally going to be a grandmother."

"You guys. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. Honestly. Next week. Sunday dinner. Your place."

"You bringing my daughter in law?" My mother asks, glee in her voice.

"You can bet on it."

I'm already bounding up the steps in the hallway by the time I hang up the call, needing to get my keys and wallet.

Lucy Lu is asleep, her afternoon nap lasting longer than usual. She didn't want to take it, afraid of being judged. I tucked her in any way. It's hard work growing a human.

The minute I walk into the store, I hear her voice in my head 'buy her something pretty,' which is how I ended up with a professionally cleaned wedding set in a custom box, my grandmothers, and a teardrop sapphire necklace with the date we made love engraved on the back.

I reach for my phone, not paying attention to anything other than the sales clerk packaging up the necklace.

"Get here quick," Sterling snaps in my ear, bypassing all pleasantries.

My senses sharpen, and the air whooshes from my lungs. If something happened to Lucy or the baby—

"What happened?" I demand, already attempting to get the clerk's attention. "I'll come back for it," I yell over my shoulder, running for my car.

"David's office got a call half an hour ago. From a man claiming to be the father of Lucy's baby. Demanding half a million dollars to keep silent. He gave them twenty-four hours to decide."

_ Mother Fucker. _

"I'm on my way," I snap as I hurl myself into the driver's seat and drop my phone in the chair next to me.

As it connects to my car, and I tear down the road fast enough for the autobahn, I smack one of the auto dial settings.

"Tim, twice in one day. What a—"

"Mom," I interrupt her with fear in my voice. "Put dad on. I need his help."

I slam on the breaks, bypassing the parking structures and coming to a stop on the front walkway. Sterling started running the minute he saw my car pull up and is almost at my door by the time I cut off the ignition.

"Where are they," I beg, my desperation to get to Lucy, making my voice sharp.

"In the drawing-room," he pants, pivoting on his heel and chasing me back into the house. I take the front steps two at a time and burst into the house so hard the door bangs open then rebounds in my direction. I just barely manage to keep it from hitting Sterling trailing behind me.

The drawing room doors are shut, better to keep the family's intimate details from the staff. Better not to test the bounds of those confidentiality contracts. Even with the heavy wooden doors closed, I can hear David Belle yelling at his daughter. The secret service is standing in the hallway, and I see them twitch as I come running down the corridor.

They're not stupid. They know trouble when they see it. 

I throw open the doors, my eyes grazing over the room until I spot my Lucy Lu, sitting in a chair in the corner, tears streaming down her face.

"If it isn't the other moron," her father yells, hands thrown in the air. "Go away, Tim. Don't you think you've done enough damage here?

Ignoring him, and the security detail discretely following me into the room, I rush to Lucy, dropping to a squat in front of her.

"Are you okay?" I ask her, cradling her face in my hands. Her eyes are puffy, face damp and red. She's cradling her bump, growing bigger every day, and I place a hand on top of hers, cradling our child with her.

She nods yes, then no, then shrugs her shoulders as she takes in a shuddering breath. I'm going to kill that man. 

"How could you?" David yaps, his voice closer than it was a minute ago. "We trusted you, Tim, and you fucked us."

I close my eyes, desperately trying to keep a hold of my temper. Placing a kiss on Lucy's lips, I rise and face her father.

"How could I what, David? Do everything in my power to protect your daughter? Easy. I love her. What the fuck is your excuse?"

He recoils as though I've slapped him, and I take the opportunity of his brief silence to take the reins of the conversation.

"It doesn't matter, David. I've handled it. I don't give a shit what you think. It's already done."

As if I timed it, half the cellphones in the room go off at once. Tyler pulls her’s from its holder, then twists to show it to Jackson.

Mrs. Belle pulls hers from a pocket and audibly gasps into the room.

"What did you do?" David barks, regaining his equilibrium.

"My lawyer—."

"Your father," he interrupts me, nastiness on his voice.

"My lawyer," I speak again, loud enough to carry over him, "put out a press release. It says, and I'm paraphrasing here, that Lucy was in a relationship when she found herself pregnant, at which point the man cut off all contact, and she discovered he'd been using an alias for the length of their acquaintance. That I, having been in love with her since childhood, saw my chance and took it. 

“As I helped her prepare for impending motherhood, we became closer and fell in love. It says that we're only making the announcement now because the  _ family _ , a model for everything good in this country," and I can't keep the derision from my voice, "is being blackmailed. Because they are so very  _ proud _ of their daughter, they had nothing to hide."

David is seething, Mrs. Belle looks moments from passing out, and the brothers have their heads together, already planning a way out of the hole I put them.

"Lastly," and I turn and face Lucy Lu, pulling my grandmothers ring from my pocket, "it says that while that child does not share my DNA, it will share my last name, as will it's mother, and the first person to say a word about her in the press will be the first person sued into bankruptcy."

I drop to one knee in front of Lucy, cracking the lid on the black velvet box.

She sucks in another shuddering breath, a tremulous smile peeking out through the tears. I bring my hand to her face, wiping away the moisture as best I can.

"Every word of that is true, my Lucy Lu. I was in love with the girl you were, and now I'm in awe of the woman you've become. I know it didn't happen the way we wished it would, but as far as I'm concerned, you are carrying my baby. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

She giggles, and whimpers, and brings a hand to my face, cupping my cheek in her palm.

"I told you yes a week ago," she quakes out, and I'm so relieved at the smile on her face that I throw my head back and laugh.

"So long, Lucy Lu, that you know you're mine," I say as I slip the ring onto her finger.

"Yours," she agrees, leaning down to place a kiss on my lips. "We both are."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it :)


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